


It's an Endless Night, Huh?

by Birdy5678



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Depression, Drabble, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:48:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24123871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdy5678/pseuds/Birdy5678
Summary: It's an Endless Night, and you - Natsuki - are forced to confront the reality of your situation.
Relationships: Monika/Sayori (Doki Doki Literature Club!), Natsuki/Yuri (Doki Doki Literature Club!)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 32





	It's an Endless Night, Huh?

As you look into the mirror, the fact that you are Natsuki sinks in. You know this because every aspect of your face leads you to this conclusion. The dimple that only shows when you frown, the creak in your nose, the scar right above your eyebrows - a deep, stark white blemish that will never fit in the perfect portrait of yourself, that unattainable image. Your eyes, a void surrounds their pink gems; you haven’t slept properly in three days. You yawn, and you stretch. It feels like yawning and stretching are the only things you’ve done these days. 

You pull at the hem of your undershirt, a pink thing stained with dark pink splotches at the collar - from this you can come to the reasonable conclusion that you are doused in sweat - and you look at the scars you’ve gained from what he did to you. Your body is wrong, and you hate this.

With your free hand, you trace the blemishes, you feel their smoothness. There’s a world within them, each and every scar, a world of thorns, of hatred and hiding and fear. There is no honor in them, this you know; there will never be honor in what he did to you. And you know that you’ve made peace with that, and that you will never forgive him. 

Every fibre in your being sighs; you think to yourself that this night has been the longest night in the longest time. That you are drowning in takeout boxes and empty beer cans. There are nights, just like this one, where the possibility that you have become him creeps over your shoulder with its delicate, gnawed pincers. Those are the worst nights. 

In this moment, suspended within the melancholy air brought on by yet another sleepless night (day?), you begin to drool. Gross. Slightly disgusted with yourself, you - Natsuki - decide to wipe at it. There is nothing here but empty takeout boxes and empty beer cans and an empty bed. 

Who was that nice girl again? The one who let you sleep in that stuffy attic when the beatings became too much to bear. The one who’d hug you, whisper sweet nothings into your ears as you shed years of torment in a rainstorm. The one who explored your wrong body, looked into your wrong eyes, and said the most wondrous thing you will ever hear in your life. It’s been years since you were teens headed for college. She wanted to become a writer, she wanted to share stories around the world; you just wanted to survive. 

And so you both clung to each other, maybe she had a thing for hopeless causes like yourself. You can’t remember. You’re twenty four, turning twenty five soon, and the only thing you’ve managed to do is not die. 

Then again, that nice girl had her own batch of problems, problems as sharp as her wits. She walked a tightrope above death with stars in her eyes. She’d beg you to bite her arms, to leave your mark on her. And you did, you did and you reveled in the euphoric filth; and in that moment the possibility that you became him became a reality. And now, that the nice girl is gone, this thought process scares you. 

Yes, she’s gone, and you’re just going to have to live on for her sake. You’re just going to have to live with the endless thoughts coursing through your head as to what you could’ve done differently. 

Your eyes close, and you think about the reality where you storm into your shit hole of an apartment five minutes before your shift at the convenience store ends, and you wrestle the knife out her hands. She’d cry into your shoulder, convinced that this would be the turning point in her life, convinced that the knife collection oughta to go. You two would order takeout and buy a pack of beers, and you would sing into the night. She would’ve crossed the tightrope, safe and sound. 

And you open them, and you are reminded of blood stained carpets and the hoarse scream which left your lips that night.

They all came to her funeral, you remember that right? Those two girls, one green, the other blue. Her family was there as well, exquisitely dressed figures, all leagues more interesting that your rented, old smelling dress. They came up to you, the blue girl a waterfall, hugging you and drowning you in her empathy. The green girl, distant, still hugged you, still cried with you. Even if you hadn’t seen or spoken to either of them in over three years. 

They tried messaging you after all had come to pass, bombarding your phone with genuine thoughts and prayers, of ‘let’s meet up this weekend, we really care about you’, and when that didn’t work, they came to your shit hole of an apartment nestled in a seedy part of a city so cold that you’ve lost all sense of touch. 

They brought wine and bread with cheese; you had the first proper meal that night in over three weeks. You understood just how much they cared about you, and so you forced a wrong smile over your wrong face and tried to act like your older self. You think it worked, because they gave you smiles of their own; and when the night drew to its end, you all reminisced about simpler times, when the nice girl was alive and young. They will never know that you were abused then, and that both the past and future are filled with thorns which dig deep into your skin. 

They cried then, because the reality that she was gone settled onto them. You cried because their reality hurt you more than your own, where the only thing that you ever felt was an empty grey. You still feel that empty grey, more now than ever.

They both made a promise that they’d be back, that this wouldn’t be last time you’d see them ever again - you believed them. You still believe them. You have to believe them. The other option is too much to bear. 

You strip, you examine your wrong figure. In this moment, you are convinced that there is no escape from the cave you’ve found yourself trapped in. You are lost within a maze of mossy caverns, of nostalgic notions and magical mantras.   
You walk over to the fridge, and you pull out a beer, and sit on that comfy but decaying couch you had both bought on a whim. You grab the remote, and switch the TV on. And you watch TV.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, sorry for not updating other fics n stuff. Truth is, I haven't been able to write in quite some time. I hope those of you still there understand, I love you guys. 
> 
> :>


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